


the strongest temptation is instant gratification

by AlphaBanana



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: (idk I think that’s everything), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:01:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28242813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaBanana/pseuds/AlphaBanana
Summary: Riona has never been all that good at delaying gratification. And if she doesn’t have to, why she should she?
Relationships: Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles), Female Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 37





	1. constant vigilance

The patrol is dull, in a way - Riona had expected _that_ . But the air is tinged with something that tastes like _foreboding_ , even before she rounds a corner and starts at the figure there.

“Mason!” She blurts, and has to take a few moments to breathe, to at least _try_ to release some of the adrenaline in her system.

“Who were you expecting? The bogeyman?” Her pulse skyrockets, but not from the fright - now, it is his _sneer_ , his condescension which irks her, makes her want to slap him around the—

 _Focus_. Riona does not want to see Rebecca more than necessary, is quite sure that she will be forced to explain herself if she damages one of her mother’s toy soldiers in any way.

“Where are the others?” Riona makes an effort to sound as unaffected as possible, and that seems to leech some of the tension from his frame, and she watches as he leans back against the wall, folding his arms.

“They’re going to meet us here.” A few minutes of heavy silence pass, and Riona takes the opportunity to examine the agent, even as she pulls her coat a little tighter around herself for a moment.

Shadows seem to suit Mason well, shrouding him until only the glimmer of grey eyes is visible, peering out from under heavy brows. His sharp jawline is accentuated by his tense expression, long lips pursed in impatience. His hard lines and solid build are tempered only slightly with waves of luxurious, soft hair that Riona wants, for one mad moment, to feel under her fingers.

“What are you staring at?” he snaps, and Riona almost wilts under his attention, before she straightens her spine (and she would be lying if she said she had not noticed the slight dilation of his pupils as his eyes traced her form, sheathed in a skin-tight v-neck and a stretchy, knee-length skirt which cling to every curve under her coat).

“Anyway, how did someone with about as much experience as a ten-year-old get to be a detective?”

And just like that, Riona crashes back down from _that_ particular high, narrows her eyes at him and draws herself up high as she can on tottering heels, even as he moves to stand close to her. “Detective Reele was retiring. The police captain and the mayor decided I was best to replace her.”

“So you were only promoted out of what, necessity?” Mason’s lips curve into a long, slow smirk, and Riona has to dig manicured nails into her thigh to force herself to meet his gaze, rather than follow the motion of his lips.

“Whatever the reason for my promotion, I’m still a detective.” Riona’s eyes narrow to slits, and her chin juts combatively.

“You keep telling yourself that.” Mason mutters while looking away, mocking still in his tone, and what was annoyance blurs into _anger_ , and Riona has to clench her fists to keep it under control.

“Look, I don’t _care_ what—”

“Shh!” Mason hisses, and if he did not look so wary, Riona would have _screamed_. Instead, she lets her hands run over the pepper spray and radio at her side.

“What is it?” Riona did not mean her voice to sound as tremulous as it does, but mercifully Mason has no remarks to offer, eyes darting in the dark.

“We might not be alone.” Mason’s pronouncement, however sneering his tone, has enough dread that Riona swallows hard, moves closer to him instinctively - and if he has anything to say about _that_ , he keeps it to himself.

Instead, he twists to stare at her, nose _wrinkling_. “It’s you. Your scent.”

Riona’s brows raise as if they are trying to reach her hairline. “ _Excuse_ me?”

Her indignation barely registers, and Mason tugs deft, strong fingers through thick layers of dark hair, swearing quietly to himself before his focus snaps back to Riona, a frown settled on his brow.

Before Riona can even hope to respond, Mason grips her shoulders and presses her into the doorway of a shop. When she finds her voice again, she opens her mouth, but all that comes out is a yell of pain as her world blurs around the edges. A thousand sharp pins dig into her brain as delicate fingers grab at wild curls, and Mason’s hands are the only thing holding her up as her knees buckle.

After a few minutes, Mason lets out a relieved breath, his shoulders slumped even as he supports her (and though she thinks she has been able to stand unaided for a minute...Riona is hardly in a rush to be let go).

Mason seems to realise her discomfort, tips her chin up to make her meet his eyes and purses his lips at her groan. “You good?”

“Yeah, just—need some painkillers.” Riona’s hand comes up to massage her temple, and she feels the loss of his presence in front of her like an ache as he steps away, seems to huddle into himself even as he cocks his head in curiosity.

“Headache?”

“It’s probably just a lack of sleep.” He gives a non-committal nod at that, turning away with his brow tight in thought.

Riona tries to move to follow him, thinking that they should find the others, since the others haven’t found _them_ yet, but her legs are still unsteady and she stumbles, nearly falling before Mason catches her, arm tight about her waist. The more Mason’s touch lingers, the more Riona’s cheeks heat, and something takes hold of Riona when she looks up and smirks. “If you wanted to get close, you could have just _asked_.”

Mason’s lips curve to match Riona’s expression, and he draws her even closer. “Something I’ll be sure to remember.”

A flicker of surprised excitement bounces between them, and no matter what actually just happened, _this_ is dangerous, his long, slow smirk is _dangerous_ as it stretches over lips she wants to—

“There you guys are!” Felix’s voice cuts through the heat, like snow in the desert, and Riona cannot say with any certainty that the expression that what passed over Mason’s face was disappointment, but she _knows_ that it is there on hers, and that Felix spots it before she can hide it, full lips stretching into a grin.

“Oh, I’m _so_ glad I was the one sent to find you two.”

With a roll of his eyes, Mason discards Riona with a slight shove, and she stumbles back, surprised despite herself at how _easy_ the motion is for him. She has to shake the thought away as Felix steps closer, followed by Ava and Nat.

“We got a call from Agent Lovelace. The unit’s supposed to meet her.”

 _Genuine_ , unvarnished surprise. “ _Now_?” Riona’s jaw has dropped open in shock, even as Felix smiles warmly at her.

“We work late, that’s all.”

Ava in particular looks _anxious_ , almost snarling at Mason and Felix to get a move on before Nat grabs her elbow.

 _“Il ne va pas soudainement disparaître_ .” Nat’s voice is soft enough, even as Riona’s ears prick up at the sound of French - an old habit from her time at university. Ava pauses for a long moment, to the point where Riona almost begins to wonder whether Ava even _understood_ —

“ _Comme tu veux_.”

Riona is careful not to betray her understanding, even as she studies their exchange with watchful eyes.

Ava mutters something unintelligible under her breath, quiet enough that Riona cannot hear it - but Mason and Felix react instantly, Felix actually rolling his eyes at Ava until he meets her gaze and stops in his tracks; and Mason studying _Riona_ instead of Ava, gaze thoughtful until he informs Ava that he’ll be walking Riona home.

“I—” Starts to object (she is _twenty-five_ , this is _Wayhaven_ , she has never _needed_ —but there have been two murders, and maybe a little reassurance is...nice), before thanking Mason and averting her eyes, not sure what she’ll find in storm-grey depths.

They spend most of the journey in silence, eyes darting to each other when they’re sure the other isn’t looking. At one point, Riona’s heel catches in one of the kitschy flagstones the Mayor was desperate to lay down, and once more Mason’s arm is coiled tight around her waist.

“You should be more careful.” But far from scolding, his eyes are dark with _something_ she is almost too flustered to name. Almost.

“Never been a strong point.” Riona lets delicate fingers graze his bicep as he holds her, watches him shiver and look at her with something like approval in now-dark eyes. Extricates herself, nearly smirks at the disappointment twisting his lips, _does_ allow herself to smirk at the way his eyes follow the movement of her hips.

They come to a stop at the front door to the building, and Riona has to lick inexplicably dry lips, catching storm-grey eyes as they follow the motion. “So—“

“So.” There’s a quiet arrogance about him, and while she can hardly say she _likes_ it, Riona can’t ignore the shiver that runs up her spine under his attention.

“You coming?” If Riona isn’t looking at him, she can convince herself to be bold, bolder than she’s ever been, and she doesn’t wait for his refusal, clacking up the stairs in impractically high (but still flattering) heels.

Riona thinks she makes out a muttered _fuck, yes_ before she then hears his footsteps behind her on the stairwell, hears him huff a breath as she fiddles with the lock. 

Riona raises an eyebrow at Mason, before walking into the bedroom, hips swaying as she removes her shirt in one fluid motion and reaches for the clasp of her bra—

And then Mason’s hands are doing it for her, and Riona’s usual sigh of relief blurs into a moan as clearly practised fingers roll her nipples between them, and _already_ Riona feels heat begin to pool at the sensation, even as she feels the slight burn of stubble at the column of her throat.

Riona manages— _just_ —to suppress a whine as Mason takes his hands away, realising too late that he means to—

And with that, Riona is picked up and flipped onto the bed and _fuck_ , if that isn’t hot, even as Riona frowns and starts to pull at Mason’s clothes, untucking his shirt before Mason firmly takes Riona’s hands away and smirks.

“Nice gesture, but I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart.” The endearment is new and, if not _kind_ , it still makes warmth bloom in Riona’s cheeks as her eyes follow Mason’s movements, tracking the way his hand traces up Riona’s leg as if it is not her own.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” Mason’s voice rumbles like thunder against the shell of her ear, and she moves her thighs together instinctively to chase the friction.

“Stop and I’ll wring your fucking neck.”

Riona distantly hears his answering chuckle, even as deft fingers skim the lace of her thong before pushing it to one side and running his knuckles through where she’s already wet.

“ _Fuck_.” If possible, his voice drops even lower, and Riona’s breath hitches even as his fingers circle her clit and she arches her back in response, mouth dropping open in a silent cry. The motion prompts him to smirk and lower his head to close his lips around one of her nipples and suck hard enough to banish any conscious thought from her mind, freezing in place the fingers that had been reaching for his zip, making them flex uselessly at her sides.

When Mason slides one long finger inside her, his name becomes a litany on her lips, encouraging him to add a second, brushing his thumb against her clit every few thrusts to make her squirm, and she—

And she _whines_ as he removes his fingers, pants as he admires the strings of slick between them, gapes as he puts them in his mouth and cleans them with his tongue before standing to undress.

She watches as if in a trance, transfixed by each glimpse of lean, taut muscles dusted with dark hair, leading down to the thatch of hair at his crotch, where he is already hard. He preens a little at her attention, before smirking.

“Flattering, but get it off.” She assumes he means the skirt, but all she does is bunch it up, slide her thong out from under her and turn over, facing away from him on all fours with a confidence she doesn’t feel.

“ _Now_. Top drawer.”

Instead, he lunges forward and licks at her, ending at her clit, _growls_ at the taste of her even as she bites her lip to suppress a moan.

Mason takes a moment to rummage in the drawer, wrap himself and line himself up, and Riona can’t help but feel a twinge of anxiety (it’s been two _years_ , and before that it had only been _Bobby_ , what if—), and he senses it, leans over to whisper in her ear.

“You good?”

“Yeah.” Swallows hard, but still manages to nod, avoiding his eye. “Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just—it’s been a while.”

Mason grunts in understanding, and holds her hips steady as he eases himself in, inch by inch and _fuck_ she’d forgotten what the stretch could feel like. Riona chances a glance back at him and he is already looking at her, studying her for any sign of discomfort. So she starts to rock against him impatiently, gasping as he swats her backside with a disapproving growl and he swears as she clenches around him in answer.

“Mason, _please_.” Riona’s voice sounds broken already, the effort of holding herself up and not simply sinking into sensations exhausting.

And then he moves and _oh_ , _fuck why did she ever stop doing this_ (Bobby, that’s why, Bobby ruined _everything_ , is even ruining this now)—pushes those thoughts away, lets one small moan escape to distract herself, to distract his watchful eyes, and she feels the hands on her hips tighten a little at the sound.

“Again.” Riona lets his voice wash over her, rich as velvet and luxurious against her senses, even as she gasps at the increased pressure, at his command. “I want to hear you.”

Mason picks up his pace at that and Riona can’t help it, moans loudly and once she starts she can’t stop, crying out when his pace quickens again, the slap of skin on skin almost frantic, his moans as loud as hers, and she is _so close_ , closer than she has been in—

And then he _stops_ , withdraws slow enough to make her whine, and she can hear the strangled smirk in his voice when he speaks next.

“Turn over.”

Dares to talk back to him, in a way that she never would have dreamt of with Bobby. “Shut up and fuck me.”

Riona feels rather than hears him chuckle, shivers as he lays the length of his body along her back and thinks she may just have succeeded when he whispers in her ear—

“I want to see your face when I make you come.” And then he withdraws again, and the cold air is almost a shock in itself. A long pause follows, a sweet kind of torture, one where she has to avoid shaking. Riona arches her back a little to try and tempt him back to where he had been, and while he makes a small noise of approval in the back of his throat, he does not move an inch, and she huffs as she rolls onto her back.

Mason is _glorious_ , burnished bronze in the low light, a sheen of sweat on his skin that she wants to _taste_ —

He smirks a little at her rapt attention, even as he shimmies her skirt off her hips, returning his lips to her core and _grinning_ (the _bastard_ ) at her instinctive moans as he licks at her, sucks her nub into his mouth and keeps it there, grazing it with his tongue, his _teeth_.

And then he is gone again, straightening and lining himself up, strong hands lifting her hips to meet him.

This time Riona does not bother trying to hold on, or hold back, or anything else - she is boneless, moaning and crying out as he brushes spots inside her that make her vision alternately blur white and burst in technicolour. Then, quite suddenly, she shatters, her vision a kaleidoscope of colours and impressions, even as he fucks her through it, his own pace becoming ever more erratic but _fuck he’s still going_ and—

And then his teeth find her throat, bite down hard enough to bruise and she screams out her second, moans as he swears and pulls out, strokes himself twice more before he groans into the swell of her breast and rips off the condom to spill on her thigh.

They lay there for a moment, she and he, catching their breaths - although he is quick enough to recover that a distant part of her _envies_ him, even as he stands with a shaky exhale and returns with a damp cloth for her, before pausing a second longer.

“You can go, if you need to.” Riona is still floating, but she is close enough to Earth to notice his uncertain pause, as if he’s not used to being the one who gets dismissed, and she turns to start wiping herself clean.

“See you tomorrow.” A simple farewell, but one which, on his tongue ( _fuck, his_ **_tongue_ **) sounds like a sin, even as he drags his clothes over his skin with what sounds almost like a strangled wince.

“See you.” Her own dismissal is a little shorter, distracted as she is (how did _that_ get _there_?), but she manages to turn in time when getting ready to go into the shower to catch him looking at his handiwork with a slow, appraising smile, light bruises in the shape of his fingertips on her hips and a blooming, rapidly-darkening hickey on the column of her throat.

He turns without another word and walks out, and it is only later, nestled in bed, that Riona realises dimly that he did not kiss her once, even as she falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	2. mission control

Riona wakes with a groan when her alarm sounds, and groans again from more than the memory of pleasure when she tries to move her legs.

The past two years of nada, zilch, _nothing_ , washed away by the feel of skin on hers, and she moves her hands up to gingerly touch the mark he left at her neck. Strangely intimate for their first (and, she assumes, _only_ ) time, but she isn’t against it. She rather likes having a reminder of their time together, even if it limits her wardrobe options for the day - has to settle for a black funnel-neck dress, grateful for the brutal cold outside.

All hope of her extra-curricular activities going unnoticed vanishes when Tina spots her at the front door of the station, takes in the funnel-neck dress and the slight wobble in her walk and gives her a covert thumbs-up and a grin, all the while trying to ask Doug a basic question and failing to receive a basic answer.

Three-quarters of Unit Bravo seem too consumed with work to notice her change of attire - the fourth member drags storm-grey eyes down her curves appreciatively, before turning back to Ava with a small smile playing on his lips. Riona swears softly as she walks into the corner of her desk, having already distracted herself with thoughts of just what those lips could do.

Ava’s eyes, previously apparently perpetually narrowed, seem to widen slightly in some kind of realisation, before throwing a reproving glare at Mason and calling the others to attention.

“The Detective has work to be getting on with here - one of us should—”

“I’ll stay. Hold down the fort here.” And Riona nearly chokes on suddenly too-sweet tea at the thought of Mason _holding something down_ —

But by then, Nat and Felix have agreed, and Ava’s jaw is tight as she realises her mistake. She mutters something low in Mason’s ear, and he seems to nod solemnly - that is, until she turns away, and he smirks at Riona, letting his tongue dart out to wet his lower lip.

Riona hopes that her voice isn’t as shaky as it seems to her own ears when she wishes the others luck.

The others have been gone mere minutes before the temperature in the room seems to rise, from more than being constricted in this _fucking_ dress, the neck tight as a noose. Tries to run her finger under the neckline without drawing his eyes, and fails instantly.

“Something I can help with, sweetheart?” His voice is smooth as silk, almost a croon, and so _smug_ she could slap him.

“What are you _actually_ paid to do? Because it’s not get under my skin.”

“I’d rather be under your skirt.” Suddenly he’s behind her, lips ghosting the shell of her ear, and despite (because of?) her irritation it’s all she can do to not turn around and shut him up in other ways.

“Well, I _actually_ have work to do.” But she does not move away, instead leans into the toned chest at her back, feels the rumble of his chuckle ripple across her senses.

“I _am_ working. I’m _holding down the fort_ .” So he _had_ noticed her reaction earlier - and before she can wonder just how much he notices, his arms have moved forward, caging her against the desk.

“Mission control.” And quite abruptly, her mind is filled with static, even his throaty chuckle into the shell of her ear at her stuttering breath barely breaking through, and she is _unspeakably_ grateful that she can lean against the desk, even as her eyes flutter shut.

Distantly, through the fog in her mind, Riona can hear his phone ringing helplessly on the central table.

“Mason—” She tries to tell him, really she does, but then long fingers have pulled aside the funnel neck of her dress, and he is admiring his handiwork anew and soothing the sting with his tongue all at once.

“Hmm?” Mason’s wordless hum barely registers in Riona’s mind above the sensation of stubble scraping against his mark from the night before—

But the other buzzing just won’t stop.

“Mason, your _phone_ —”

“Doesn’t matter.” He’s half-hard against the small of her back, voice rough against the sensitive skin at her throat, and she _nearly_ reaches back to feel him but if that’s _Ava_ , it doesn’t bear thinking about.

“ _Mason_.”

His answering groan sounds as frustrated as she feels, even as confusion knots in her belly when he reluctantly moves away to answer the phone, talking in hushed tones. Riona, despite her enthusiasm (which surprises even herself), isn’t what one could call _experienced_ \- at least, not in this. Bobby was her first and only before this, and although five years leaves a lot of room for experimentation, she has always been under the impression that these _arrangements_ , such as they are, are a one-time—

“I have to go. Av—Agent du Mortain needs me. Something about a reporter.” Seems to pause, not least because he is still breathing a little ragged, and through the haze that lingers in her own mind she feels a flush of pride, however foolish, at that.

“See you later?” His voice is still rough, but his eyes burn with promise, and Riona feels a flush rise in her cheeks at the suggestion.

“Sure.” Tries to keep her tone nonchalant, but he can read her easily as a book, and his smirk sets her heart to racing all over again.

It takes Tina an uncharacteristically long time (nearly _two hours_ of peace and quiet) to speed into the tiny office, demanding details, _details_ , **_details_ ** , and it is all Riona can do to make sure that the rest of the station does not hear too.  
“So - how was he?” Tina is _terrible_ at whispering, and Riona has to shut the door to her office to stop the world and their friend from getting an earful.

“Well, I only have Bobby as comparison,” here Tina gags for dramatic effect, and Riona feels a flash of pure affection for her at that, “but— _good_.” Riona isn’t sure how else to put it into words, and Tina senses that, squeals in excitement.

“So, you gonna go for round two?” Tina waggles thick eyebrows, before letting her expression soften a little. “You deserve to let loose, Ri. Make up for lost time.”

Only Tina knows what Riona—what _Bobby_ —

Only Tina.

Riona takes Tina’s hand in hers, feels her heart swell when Tina squeezes back. “It’s not anything serious, it’s just—”

“You’re allowed to have fun.” And if Riona didn’t know better, she would say that Tina was almost _scolding_ her. “It doesn’t have to be some world-ending romance. You deserve to have someone fuck your brains out.”

“ _Tina_ !” Riona tries to be scandalised, she really does - but before too long, she is giggling along with Tina, who is looking _inordinately_ pleased with herself.

“Well you do!” Tina manages to splutter out, before planting a fond kiss to Riona’s cheek and leaving with her paperwork crumpled in her hand.

Tina pauses in the doorway, and turns back with her brow furrowed in worry. “Just—be careful, okay?”

“I will.” And Riona does mean it this time, lets her reassuring smile reach her eyes, and Tina’s shoulders relax a little with relief.

“And if you need anyth—oh!” As if summoned by their conversation, Mason appears behind Tina’s shoulder, and Tina looks like she can’t decide whether to laugh or cry.

“If I need anything, I’ll let you know.” Riona makes sure to promise Tina so she won’t fret, then tries not to laugh as Tina backs away, spooked by Mason’s arrival.

“You coming?” Mason scowls as he asks the question - both as if he isn’t sure _why_ he’s asking and as if he has already been waiting too long - and Riona tries to smile.

“Give me five minutes, I’ll finish up a couple things first.” Hears his grunt of assent, and suddenly her fingers cannot sift through sheafs of paperwork quickly enough.

When she’s finished, they walk side by side until they reach the front door, and this time it is Mason that breaks the silence.

“I thought ladies didn’t kiss and tell.” His tone is as inscrutable as his handsome features, and Riona chances a slow smirk.

“Well, I thought we made it _quite clear_ that I’m no lady.” Arches her back and feels his eyes drag down her curves as if he wishes they were his hands (and she remembers with a small tremor that _they will soon be on her_ ), and his chuckle rumbles like thunder, warning her of a coming storm.

When they’re at the foot of the apartment stairs, he clearly decides that her heels are making her too slow, and he picks her up with ease and slings her over one shoulder and _fuck_ , if she’d known he was that strong she would have asked him _sooner_ —

And the rest of the night is a blur of moans and scents and sounds with no human name, and when they are both sated he presses his lips almost reverently to the marks he has gifted her, old and new, before he then leaves, and she curls into the sheets which still bear his scent as she dozes off, warm and contented.

**

The next morning at the station, there are two agents sitting in her office, not four.

“Ava and Mason are following a lead out of town.” Nat informs her with a soft smile as she comes in, and Riona lets disappointment flash over her features before she can hide it - and Nat’s eyes are warm, but she _knows_ , and Riona can’t hide her wince at the thought.

“It’s often like this.” Nat’s voice is reassuring, sweet as honey, and Riona lets it drip over her senses, even as she registers Felix and smiles reflexively at the enthusiasm in his tone.

“Divide and conquer!” Felix laughs, and the sound is infectious enough that Riona giggles despite herself, soaking in his answering smile like sunlight.

They work on processing witness statements for a few more hours, interrupted every so often by paperwork requests and the like, until Nat and Felix take their leave, promising to catch up soon (and if Nat’s eyes linger a little as she opens her mouth to say something, she quickly decides against it).

Riona stays another few hours at work, turning the case over in her mind (if there is no discernable connection between the victims, then—), before sagging with relief when Tina asks for company to Laycott’s.

Laycott’s is packed as usual, with half the town in attendance, and it takes Riona and Tina about ten minutes to make their way to a booth, caught up in small talk with the various townsfolk. And then they have barely been seated in the booth for fifteen minutes, swapping stories from their different parts of the station, when Unit Bravo ( _all four members_ ) walk in, and an almost unnatural (but entirely understandable) hush falls over the bar.

Mason hangs back a little, seemingly waiting for Ava’s approval - at her tight nod, the four of them move as one to the booth, with varying degrees of friendly greetings. Ava makes sure to sit next to Riona, almost pinning her against the wall of the booth, and Riona cannot help but throw Mason an accusatory glance from across the table, roll her eyes at his smirk. Tina, three sheets to the wind, cannot stop the way her eyes flick between Riona and Mason, even if the pair of them have just about enough sense to not broadcast their...their _whatever this is_.

Nat patiently bundles Tina into a cab before too much longer, even as it becomes clear that _Riona_ is the only one that has been truly sharing information this whole time, even as she storms out of the bar, Ava hot on her heels.

When they come, these crazed strangers, Mason looks almost resigned, even as he roughly pushes her behind him. But that does not stop her from drawing one of them away from Douglas, here with friends, and he nearly drops his phone in shock before he heeds Riona’s urging and _runs_.

The rest of the fight is quick and dirty, Riona helping where she can (and making a mental note to send Captain Sung some chocolates as a thank-you gift for funding her self-defence course last summer). And when they are unconscious, Mason comes to her, tips her chin up to check her eyes for concussion (he says), and the rest of the scene seems to fall away for a moment. Mason brushes away some dirt from her cheekbone, before withdrawing as if touching her _burns_ , and Riona’s breath catches in her throat, almost swaying forward on her toes to follow his fingers.

He opens his mouth to say something, but must have decided against it, because he is gone, even if he looks back at her as he moves to Nat’s side, listening to something Nat is telling Ava. Riona leans against a lamppost to catch her breath, surveying the scene (and in the back of her mind she thinks that _something is not right, there were four_ —).

And then a flash of blinding pain, and she cannot think anymore.


	3. revelations

They are vampires. She  _ fucked _ a  _ vampire _ .

_ That _ is what is swimming in her head, as they are gauging her reaction, trying to judge if she will run for the hills.  _ Mason is a vampire _ . Later on, when she has fully processed that, she will think more about strengths and weaknesses and myths and legends, but for now, Riona cannot help but press her thighs together, even as she tries to position her hair to hide his fast-healing marks from Rebecca, still in a hospital gown with no other protection.

When Riona is dressed, she walks around the Facility with Rebecca, tries to ignore the way Rebecca’s eyes flick over to her every so often, the way she opens her mouth like she wants to say something ( _ what could she possibly say, after all this time apart? _ ).

“Do you have any other questions?” Rebecca seems surprised at Riona’s silence (and Riona remembers what she was like as a child, always  _ what, how, why why why _ \- but children grow up, even when their parents aren’t there to see it).

“Nope.” It’s all quite self-explanatory, really. And fills in some of the blanks around Rebecca’s own absences, too. Riona almost feels a little sorry for Rebecca.  _ Almost _ .

They walk back to Riona’s little Travelodge-style room in silence, and when they are inside, Riona flops onto the bed, exhausted even from the little time they have spent alone together.

“How have you been?” Rebecca finally manages, and Riona turns away, not seeing Rebecca’s brown eyes narrow a little as they catch a glimpse of the mark on Riona’s neck.

“Fine. You?” Riona wants to care, wants them to be a  _ normal _ mother and daughter - but there is a gulf there that she cannot step over alone.

“Fine.” Rebecca comes close enough to touch, then, and Riona resists the urge to raise her arms in question, or lean into a phantom touch, or—before Rebecca instead pushes her hair back to take a closer look at the hickey. “You are being careful, aren’t you? The reporter—”

Riona barks a laugh, pushes Rebecca’s hand away and turns on the bed, faces one of the other barren walls. “You can’t pick and choose when you care. And since I’m not convinced you can  _ handle _ caring all of the time, don’t bother trying.”

She doesn’t turn to watch Rebecca leave, instead lays on her lumpy bed in silence for a while afterwards, feeling something bitter churn in the pit of her stomach.

How much time passes before there is another tentative knock at her door, she could not possibly say, and she does not bother to open her eyes.

“Come in.” Her voice is still tight, she realises with some dissatisfaction - she had thought that seeing Rebecca didn’t affect her as much any more. Clearly, she was wrong.

“You good?” The voice that rumbles from the doorway is almost soothing in comparison - or would be, if so much was not still unsaid.

“Fine. You?”

“Fine.” Another long silence, this one even longer than with Rebecca, and eventually she opens her eyes and sits up with a sigh, has to ignore her instinctive reaction to the way he watches her frame.

“Well, you know everything now.” Mason’s eyes have not left her, and they linger on the bandage just visible from the back of her head.

“No thanks to you.” Riona  _ knows _ it’s childish - but there is something satisfying about the tightening around his eyes, even as he rolls them, tries to look unaffected.

“What exactly could I have said?”

Riona’s only response is a huff of irritation, before she moves down the bed to perch on the end.

“So, are we good?” Mason’s own lean frame is tight, hands firmly in his pockets, and she remembers his senses, and lowers her voice a little instinctively.

“If you mean  _ are we still fucking _ \- you tell me.” Riona can almost  _ hear _ the speed with which he looks up at her, grey eyes searching for some kind of trap.

“So, you still—”

“If you do.” Riona raises an eyebrow in challenge, tries to hide the tension in her muscles at the thought that he might—

“ _ Fuck _ , yes.” Mason’s grin is all teeth, sends a shiver down her spine from more than mere relief, even as she raises one delicate finger.

“But first - some ground rules.”

“Go on.” His eyes are intense, and Riona chooses to focus on a spot on his clavicle instead, to keep herself from drowning in them.

“You don’t stay over.”

Mason rolls his eyes as if it’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. “Check.”

Riona ploughs on. “We don’t do anything at work.”

_ That _ gets his attention. “That desk of yours—”

“—will remain unspoiled, no matter how sturdy it looks.” No matter how Riona herself had spent half her day with Nat and Felix daydreaming about it.

“Fine.” A bored huff, and Riona taps her thigh to draw his attention back to her.

“No more visible marks. I don’t have enough money to buy more high-necked clothes.”

Mason nods in agreement, and when next he speaks his question is soft, almost gentle, even as he drifts closer until he is standing in front of her, hand reaching for her jawline. “Anything else?”

_ Now or never _ . “No one else.”

“Hmm?” His fingertips are  _ warm _ as they skim her jawline, and from where she is sitting on the bed he looks like some kind of god, the low light forming a halo around dark tresses, and she swallows thickly.

“No one else, if you’re fucking me.”

His fingers freeze in place on her jawline, features inscrutable in the light. A long pause follows, and she worries that she’s gone too far, too fast. Eventually, he speaks again, and there’s a roughness to his voice that makes her spine straighten.

“No one else. That goes for you too.”

Riona doesn’t mean to sound so dismissive, but she  _ scoffs  _ at that. “Oh,  _ please _ . Were you not listening when I said I hadn’t—”

“That  _ Bobby _ you said to Tina about,” and suddenly this conversation is bad, very bad, and he must be able to hear her heart start to canter, before reaching a gallop, “that’s not Bobby  _ Marks _ ?”

Her silence tells Mason everything he needs to know.

“So, are you—”

“We’ve been done for about two years.” It takes everything she has to keep her tone level, especially when meeting grey eyes that seem to pick apart every well-rehearsed smile and mannerism.

“How many years before that?” Maybe this is why he’s the interrogations expert - it doesn’t feel like an invasion, not as it might have with someone else.

“Five.” Her voice is small to her own ears, and she clears her throat before she carries on. “But it’s not—he’s not in the picture anymore.”

“Ok.” His simple acceptance makes her smile broadly, and she thinks she must have imagined his breath hitching slightly at that.

And then it is as if a dam has broken, and he is tilting her chin up and leaning down to kiss her lips even as she arches her spine to try and meet him, and he tastes of smoke and cloves as he burns her like dry tinder. Before long she is gasping for air and his lips do not leave her skin for a moment, instead blazing a trail along her jawline.

Riona pulls him back onto the bed with her, and the press of his muscles into her curves is enough to light up her nerve endings. She links her heels behind his hips, feels him moan against her skin as he presses closer to her and  _ this _ is how it always should have felt before with B—

“Riona?” The knocking at the door is insistent, like a drill, chipping away at their bliss even as Mason urges her to stay with a kiss that is almost bruising, soothed with his tongue on her lower lip.

“Fuck,  _ ignore them _ .” He kisses her again, and she is ready to melt into him (realises dimly that this may well be the only part of her life that has remained constant, when all the rest has been turned inside out, upside down and back to front) when—

“Riona, it’s time for your tests.”

They both groan at that, even as Mason pulls her up with him to sit on the bed while he kneels between her thighs. He tidies her curls a little for her, brow furrowed in concentration as nimble fingers try to tame unruly tresses, then smacks her backside soundly as she walks to answer the door.

When she turns to glare at him he  _ laughs _ – but there’s a heat simmering under the surface of his gaze that makes her heart skip a beat, and when she is out in the corridor, she lets herself smile at him as she closes the door behind her, even as she feels a knot begin to form in the pit of her stomach.


End file.
